The Time Keeper
by sentinel10
Summary: 'Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.' William Shakespeare. Even after one hundred years, Leah is haunted by the ghosts of her past. AU.
1. Chapter 1

"It's almost full," Morgan smiles as he reaches for the dark curtain.

Blue light fills the small room and casts an eerie shadow over his form. His blue-black hair ruffles slightly as he unclasps the lock and pushes the window out toward the street.

My eyes narrow, watching the ghost like ripples the light causes as it touches his pale skin.

He's right. The moon is almost full. His wolf knows it. Senses it and paws under his skin to test the waters.

I shiver when his clear blue eyes turn back to me. The faint silver iris burns brightly as he watches me shift with unease, trying to toe the blanket back up my body.

He smiles gently and shakes his head, staring out into the emptying streets. "I'll never know why you hide your body. It's beautiful. Being in this form is a natural instinct to us."

I snort as I swing my legs and sit on the edge of the bed.

Morgan is extremely sweet. Irritating, but sweet. He's like a candy. You know you shouldn't have so much of him, but you want it anyway. You want to be high on him. Fuck the consequences, right? That is, until you feel sick. Until your head pounds and you end up with you head resting on the edge of insanity. Until you can't stand the withdrawals and you shake like a fucking leaf in a hurricane, knowing the only cure is more. More of him. More until your veins stand on the tops of your wrists. Until your eyes roll back into your head. Fuck the consequences, right?

"You're leaving?" he asks as I stuff my feet into my boots. I don't stick around for the after part. Well, not normally. Reaching for my bra which hangs delicately over the lamp shade, I shove it into the pocket of my jeans and slip my shirt over my head. His face is sullen, like he hadn't expected me to leave so soon.

I saunter up to him and wrap my arm around his naked waist, stroking the curve of his back. My eyes stay fixed on his chest as I nod my head. "I don't stay the night. Rules are rules."

I kiss his cheek softly, feeling his hand run from my wrist to my elbow in soothing strokes. The rough skin of his fingers make me shudder, knowing how much of a contrast his personality is to his body.

He's built like a truck, easily 6'6, and could crush a human man's face with his palm. But his personality is soft, almost feminine and calm. Every female in a 100 mile radius knows he is an Alpha. His voice. His smell. It's all man. But in these moments I see his weakness.

Men have always had the same weakness. They act as though they are impenetrable, unbreakable, but I can see his truths. He's lonely. Afraid of living an eternity without ever finding his mate. He wants to share his life. His love. He wants to be a father, a husband and a good man.

My heart constricts tightly as I think of my life. I am very much the same. Like him, I am afraid.

But we are opposites in the sense. I am afraid of finding someone who means more to me than anything. I am afraid of being chained. Tied and bound to a person I will come to resent. Like a bird, I wasn't born to a cage. And I'd die before being trapped into one.

"When have you ever followed anyone's rules," he states smartly as he bumps my shoulder.

I snort and give another nod. "I follow yours, don't I?"

"You call what you do, following the rules?" he laughs, curling his large hand around my neck and pulling me forward.

Kissing my forehead, and burying his nose in my temple, he whispers that he will see me in the morning.

I nod deftly and take my leave, closing his room door quietly and out of respect.

Walking down the corridor of the share house, to the far most southern end, I hear the loud snores of the werewolves sleeping and stirring behind the thick steel doors. The steel prevents any 'accidents' from happening within the large building. Especially when the full moon lingers.

Some newbies have difficulty changing and have not yet honed their skills. Their change is much more gruesome than the older Were's. Their bones still crack, their fangs pushing through the gums of their mouths much too slowly. The pain is tenfold to that of a normal change, and the screams make it hard to not follow.

Full moon nights usually mean I'm gone. The bar down stairs is hauled up and barricaded, and every entry and exit to the building seals shut. Steel mirrored planks lock into place just before sundown, trapping all occupants inside. I've endured only one change and vowed never again to be present.

The scratching and loud howls surrounding my room made my ears ring and my teeth clench. Granted I was also a wolf, hearing their pain manifested into an actual physical feeling of pain for me. I'd blacked out after twenty minutes of withering on the slate floor.

Morgan had found me in the morning, scratch marks covering my forearms and neck. He tore up half the bar when he realised I'd been locked in for the night and immediately had my door changed.

I reach a dark brass door, enter the pin on the press pad and saunter into my room. Even though the building pre-dates the 1940's, every safety measure has been fitted. Pushing the door shut, I slide my finger over the internal press pad and hear the locks slide into place.

Peeling off my clothes and kicking them toward a corner of the room, I head for the bathroom. Turning the taps of the old over bath shower, I hear the groan of the ancient pipes and pray that a morsel of hot water is left in the tanks. With forty Weres showering at all hours of the day, I hope for at least a drop. After a few moments the shower head kicks to life and delivers me water hot enough to stand under.

I wash my hair and scrub down my body, knowing that tomorrows event will probably have me skipping on the act. There are plenty of late night bars that stay open. They are the perfect hideout until the sun rises again and I can return back to the building. It's not that I'm hiding per say. More like... waiting.

Scrubbing my wrists, I slow the motions. Bruises litter my arms and it's not unusual. Morgan's touch is an Alpha's. He starts off slow and steady, but the animal in him requires dominance. His wolf likes to hear me scream and claw, it likes to bite the skin of my wrists and elbows.

However, the one place it wants to mark, is off-limits. Even Morgan's wolf knows that.

He is not my mate. And to mark me there, would mean everything and nothing at the same time.

Everything to him. And nothing to me.

He knows I would run. He knows I would disappear, maybe head back to the States. He knows that if he ever crossed that line... he would never be able to find me again. So he accepts that while he has most of me, he can never have all of me. It's selfish, really. But I'm a glutton for punishment and it seems he is too.

Drying off my hair I look in the iron cast mirror. There's something about the mirror that reminds me of Snow White. More notably, the evil stepmother. The mirrors black edging is sharp and twisted, trailing down into a tweaked edge. There's a large crack in the glass that splits my face in two parts. It shows me what I want to see on the outside, but I know I am broken just like the mirror on the inside.

After one hundred years, I still looked like I did the day my daddy died. The day my mother died. When... Seth... died.

One hundred years had passed and I was still the same. My eyes were still bright and my hair was still black. My skin did not wrinkle or crease. My lips remained blood red.

Figures.

That after one hundred years, I was technically part of the undead.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good Morning," Morgan grins as he saunters into the large kitchen.

Wrapping an arm around my waist, he kisses my temple and goes to forage some food before the rest of the cannibals finish it off.

I don't reply as I stuff the rest of my bagel into my mouth. My eyes follow his large form as he beats some of the younger guys over the head for not using a plate. The pups grin sheepishly and begin the blame game. Morgan lets out a large bellow when the boys end up on the floor, wrestling and accusing each other of being bad influences.

"Looks like someone was thoroughly fucked last night," Shelly sneers as she takes a seat next to me and grabs for one of my slices of bacon. Her hand stops mid-way as she hears the low growl emitting from my chest. It's not much but she recognises the warning. "Fine. You're such a selfish cunt."

"Come on Shells, there's plenty of food," Morgan chuckles "Leave Leah alone."

He slips an arm around her shoulders as she nears and I have to bite my lips to stop from growling. Morgan glances at me with a raised brow, but I blow him off and look back down at my plate.

"What's with her? She's being more bitchy than usual," Shelly blinks up at Morgan with a face of innocence.

Morgan shakes his head and pushes his sister forward toward the food. Her teeth shine brightly as she smiles up at her older brother and Alpha. Her dark brown curls fall in waves down her back and nothing in me wants more than to snatch her head back and snap in her face. She's young, and pretty, and has the world in front of her. I hate that most about her. She still has hopes and dreams.

Morgan does too. I see them when he thinks I'm not looking at him. He stares at me and contemplates the future of 'us'. I can feel the judgement of him weighing up the life we could have. I feel him watch me as I leave every day, wondering if I will come back at night. I can feel his wonder. His sadness. His despair. His happiness. It suffocates me like a slow coiling snake. Forever tightening.

...

"You're quiet today," Morgan states as he drops down beside me on the stairs. My eyes stay locked on to a group of the pups who are play fighting in the communal den. Nick, Daley and Jesse are all around the same age and are all in-house schooled. They are some of the youngest in the pack, and most precious by the majority of the She-weres.

After years of searching, I'd finally found women just like me. Or so I thought. Turns out, they were nothing like me. Unlike me, they picked a mate; they gave birth to little tiny children, and lived their lives with the ones they loved. They didn't live forever, they didn't need to. They'd stay young for close to one hundred and fifty years, and then, when it was time, die peacefully around those which they loved.

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?" his deep voice whispers as his calloused fingers run over my cheek.

"I'm fine," I smile weakly up at him, bothered that his blue eyes are still rimmed with a silver edge as he looks down at me.

His nostrils flare slightly as his eyes narrow. "You know I can tell when you're lying, right?"

"No you can't," I snap, pulling my face again from his hand.

It lingers in the air for only a moment before he drops his arm to his side with a long sigh. 'You can't do _anything_ but hide in this box' I want to scream but don't. It's not his fault; I try to tell myself but the anger of my whole entire life coils within my belly.

"Leah," he breathes impatiently, "If you don't want to talk about it, don't sulk in the corner where I can see you suffering."

He doesn't say another word as he silently dusts his hands against his track pants and stands from the stairs. His heavy footsteps climb the stairs and it takes everything in me not to flinch at each step. I am the epitome of the word bitch, but my nature commands my nurture. It would be an impossible plight to change it now.

Lyle's descending laugh echoes loudly in my ears as he props himself against the frame of a door and crosses his arms over his wide chest. "I never took you for heartless," he snipes as he stares down at me. "I mean, a bitch, yeah. But what you're doing to big ol' Alpha up there is a total different story."

"What would you know?" I spit, grinding my teeth hard enough to feel the dust of the after effect.

Lyle's presence is unwarranted and always unwanted. He's like a scratch that constantly scabs but never heals. Constantly popping up and never-failing to inflict a little pain.

Giving me a wide grin, he licks his lips. All of the were-pack share the same characteristics. Blue piercing eyes. Pale skin. Dark hair. And the uncanny smile of a predator.

"Between the Pride problems we got and the lovers tiff you two have going on, I wouldn't be surprised if he just killed himself." Lyle's voice is sugary sweet and I hate every inch of it.

...

I quietly touch Morgan's hand as I leave in the afternoon. He is as anxious as he is every full moon sundown. He knows that in a few hours' time, he will cease to exist as a person. He will be trapped in a steel box room for his own good. And the good of human lives around us.

His veins stand high on his forearm and I brush them softly. He lets out a small groan and I smile discreetly. He can't see my face but he knows. The heat of his back warms my cheek as I press it to the skin of his shoulder-blade.

"Come back to me," he whispers as he squeezes my hand. The pale colour of his hand and the russet of my skin are such a contrast as I stare at our hands. Like day and night. Like light and dark. Good and bad.

"Okay," I answer lamely, pulling myself from him.

I don't look back as I slide my hand across the press pad, locking the door and the werewolf in behind me.


End file.
